


Overture

by thekuroiookami



Category: Devil May Cry
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Modern: No Powers, Awkward Flirting, Dating, Fluff and Humor, Getting to Know Each Other, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Librarians, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Nero thirsting, Parent/Child Incest, Past Relationship(s), Romance, Romantic Comedy, Shyness, Sibling Bonding, Temporarily Unrequited Love, Time Skips
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-12
Updated: 2019-06-12
Packaged: 2020-05-02 06:13:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,608
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19193335
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thekuroiookami/pseuds/thekuroiookami
Summary: Nero is visiting the library a lot these days, but its not the books he's checking out...Or: that awful time Dante gave Vergil love advice and it actually made sense.Modern day AU with alternate jobs; can be read with or without reference to incest.





	Overture

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Zas (fluxfiction)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fluxfiction/gifts).



 

Oh shit.

He’s been spotted. 

 

Nero ducks behind the shelf, setting leather-bound spines and heavy reference books a-rattle. 

Which only makes him curse under his breath again, because the idea is to  _ not be noticed, brickhead. _

 

He hears the crisp tap of a pointed shoe on the floor too late.

 

“Can I help you?”

 

Heat suffuses Nero’s face. No, he wants to say, you can’t help me, unless you’re here to give me your number and a spare key to your heart.

 

He raises his gaze slowly, so he can make up an excuse. Or brace himself. Or both.

 

He takes in the shoes first, polished wingtips in a rich mahogany, oddly luxurious, all things considered. Sharp trouser creases almost obscure their laces. The navy fabric goes up, up, up, over long legs and slim hips. A waistcoat of the same shade as the trousers encases a torso that broadens into straight, poised shoulders. Nero is starting to think he’s made a mistake by the time he reaches the collar of a white shirt, open just enough to show a hint of throat, smooth and strong. 

 

When he looks up into crystal-blue eyes, he knows he’s definitely fucked up.

 

The librarian raises an eyebrow at him, no doubt mistaking his slow survey for something else. His face gets warmer. Maybe. _Maybe_ Nico will drive her van through the wall and save him.

 

“Are you looking for something in particular?” The man glances at the shelf Nero nearly toppled in his attempt to hide. “...in the rare books section?”

 

“No! I just- got lost,” he says lamely. Some traitorous part of his brain that sounds a lot like Nico wants to say, yeah, lost in your eyes.

 

“Is it possible to do that more quietly? This  _ is  _ a library.” The insanely good-looking librarian turns away, about to leave.

 

“Wait!” Nero winces as it came out louder than he intended. The other man turns, frowning. “Can you tell me where the, um, recipe books are?”

 

This time he gets surveyed, as if the librarian has discovered a new and exotic species of bird. Whatever the conclusion is, it brings a small quirk to his lips.

 

“This way,” is all the man says before sweeping past Nero in wave of sandalwood and hauteur.

 

Nero swallows his trepidation and follows.

* * *

 

It’s been a month, and Vergil still has no idea what the young man’s intentions are.

 

He goes through the facts like a row of paperbacks, picking them up to inspect their titles and slotting them back into place.

 

**Fact:** The first time Nero (last name unknown) came to the library, a young woman of excitable disposition and voluminous hair accompanied him. She had not reappeared since checking out two references on engine configurations and firearm history.

 

The books are long overdue.

 

**Fact:** Nero has difficulty communicating with him, possibly due to a crippling lack of self-confidence, but only visits the library when Vergil is on shift. 

 

A colleague mentioned this over a cup of tea.

 

**Fact:** Nero’s choice of reading material is puzzling. The list includes cookbooks, a biography of Mata Hari, a series of comic books, and the fifth volume of a never to be continued fantasy novel. 

 

It’s as if the books are selected at random, really.

 

Vergil surveys his mental shelf. It looks pretty, arranged in order, but it makes no sense.

 

“Dante?”

 

“Yeah?” His brother is barely listening, tapping out an impatient rhythm on Vergil’s desk with a rolled-up magazine. Vergil resists the urge to swat the glossy issue out of Dante’s hand and smooth it out.

 

He pauses to select his words. “Why would someone frequently visit a place even if they were not entirely comfortable with the environs?”

 

Dante shrugs. “I dunno, maybe they just like pain.”

 

Vergil considers that possibility for exactly seven seconds before discarding it. “They’re not you, Dante.”

 

“Hey, you asked for my opinion, okay? Why don’t you just man up and put your question to whoever it is?”

 

“It’s not...that simple. I seem to make them uneasy.”

 

Dante’s eyebrows shoot up. “Ooookay. So. Verge. Remember when I had a crush on that girl with the freckles, when we were ten?”

 

“Who can forget all the lemonade you drank?”

 

Dante briefly drops a hand onto his shoulder. “Yeah, I fucking hate lemonade.”

 

Vergil is left alone to ponder that for the rest of the day, until Nero arrives. He doesn’t meet Vergil’s eyes as he places a stack of books on the desk, posture stiff. There is only the sound of the stamp punching, ink bleeding a promise to meet again.

 

**Fact:** Nero’s blush is not displeasing to Vergil, and neither is the face is painted by that blush.

 

Hmm.

* * *

 

Nero is late today, damn it.

 

The library will close in five minutes, despite Nico’s hell-for-leather driving that nearly killed an old woman, and that supposed shortcut which Nero suspects included someone’s lawn.

 

He sprints up the stairs, muscles straining to put in a last ounce of speed. He’s close, so close-

 

And it’s closed.

 

Nero skids to a stop, putting a hand out to catch himself before he crashes through the glass doors. His heart is pounding with the effort, disappointment drumming in his ears.

 

He drops his face against the cool glass and pants, trying to put out the swelling misery in his gut.

 

“You are late.”

 

Vergil’s faintly disapproving judgement comes from right next to him. Nero flinches in surprise and stumbles back.

 

Gloved fingers close around his elbow to steady him. Even through the leather separating Vergil from the chill breeze of the season, Nero can feel warmth seep into his skin.

 

“I- shit happened, okay, there was a job-” Nero wishes he could stop talking, but the reactionary part of his brain has taken the wheel.

 

“I believe this is what you were planning to check out today?” Vergil slips out a book from under his coat, a slim brown hardcover that Nero has never seen before in his life. 

 

Nero takes it dumbly. Maybe it comes with instructions on how to deal with this situation. Nope, just has a big letter emblazoned on the front.

 

Vergil adjusts his cashmere scarf and starts walking. “Be sure to return this one on time, Nero.”

 

“What the hell-” But Vergil is already halfway across the street.

 

Nero looks at his retreating back, then drops his gaze to the book. He’s always returned his books on time. It isn’t as if he reads most of them.

 

He slips the lined card out of its holder in the back with practised deftness. Did the deadline change?

 

Nero reads it, and a surge of embarrassed shock punches him in the face.

 

It’s not a deadline.

 

But it’s definitely a date.

* * *

 

Vergil knows it’s not polite to push for more than someone can give. Especially in the early stages of a relationship.

 

His new rapport with Nero is in its infancy, barely six weeks old.

 

However, he cannot help but get slightly frustrated with the lack of progress. Surely, by this point, they ought to have taken things further than  _ holding hands. _

 

He watches Nero’s swift, efficient movements in the tiny kitchen. Milk is heated, cups retrieved from their hiding places in drawers, and jars are opened. Vergil laces his fingers together and thinks.

 

It is Nero. Perhaps a direct approach would be best.

 

His lover returns to the table where he is seated. Nero places a mug in front of him, mouth curving in a familiar tip-tilted smirk as he takes a seat next to Vergil.

 

“Hot chocolate, as promised.” 

 

Vergil takes a sip as he contemplates. It is velvety, rich, warm.

 

“Where does the sweetness come from?” It is fleeting, teasing him with its elusive surprises.

 

“Marshmallows.” Nero’s grin gets wider. “Obviously.”

 

Vergil huffs slightly into the cup. “But of course.”

 

They sit in a moment of companionable silence. Nero’s presence is like the frothy cocoa Vergil sips - comforting and filling.

 

“Nero?” 

 

“Mm, what’s up?” 

 

“Have you ever been in a serious relationship before?”

 

Nero’s face, so young and fierce, falls. “Once.”

 

“It didn’t end well?” Vergil can feel Nero’s sorrow reach out with dark claws and grip him.

 

“It ended. She died.” Nero rests his chin on his hand and glances out the window. “I guess it’s been a year now.”

 

Vergil finds himself reaching out to smudge away the despair tugging at the corners of Nero’s mouth, draining the colour from those brilliant eyes. His thumb brushes the spot, soothing as his hand grips Nero’s face.

 

Nero jerks in surprise and halts his reverie to stare at Vergil. He gazes back calmly, tapping his thumb on Nero’s warm skin once. 

 

“You are here now, with me.” Vergil draws his hand back and waits.

 

Nero’s expression softens into something between melancholy and affection. “Yeah. Thank you.”

 

Vergil nods and absently swirls the dregs of dark liquid. “Did she also like this drink?”

 

“Who? Oh. Yeah. Taught me to make it. Said it was like a hug in a mug.” Nero looks a tinge amused at the memory.

 

“Hmm. I would disagree.” Vergil lifts the grey ceramic and lets his eyes settle on Nero’s. “It feels more like a kiss. A decadent one.”

 

Colour slowly climbs up Nero’s neck and blooms in his cheeks. He looks delicious. “Y-you-”

 

Vergil places a hand on Nero’s knee and leans in. Nero’s breath comes in short, heated puffs, brushing over his skin. He traces a pattern into Nero’s jeans, leaving enough time to make a retreat if that’s what Nero wants.

 

He doesn’t. Hesitantly, Nero’s hand slides over his.

 

Vergil almost smiles.

 

**Author's Note:**

> I was basically dared into writing Nero as the protag of a shoujo manga.


End file.
